Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(13)

“They’re choked from the front.”

“Aye. Usually against a wall.” Carefully he took Garrett’s shoulders and guided her backward until she felt her shoulder blades touch the hard surface. His big hands lifted to her throat, the fingers strong enough to bend copper coins. A frisson of alarm chased down her spine, and she stiffened.

Ransom let go instantly, his brows drawing together with concern.

“No,” Garrett assured him hastily, “I . . . I’m perfectly all right. It’s just that I’ve never had someone take me by the throat before.”

His voice was soft. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. Ever.”

“Of course.” She paused before adding wryly, “Although when I mentioned you to my father, he warned that you were dangerous.”

“I can be.”

Garrett gave him a superior glance. “Every man likes to think there’s a part of his nature that remains untamed and unsubdued.”

“You know all about men, do you?” he asked with an edge of mockery.

“Mr. Ransom, the male sex has ceased to be a mystery ever since my first course in practical anatomy, which included the dissection of a cadaver.”

That should have set him in his place, but instead he laughed quietly. “I’ve no doubt you can carve up a man like a jugged hare, Doctor, but that doesn’t mean you understand the first thing about him.”

Garrett regarded him coolly. “You think me na?ve?”

Ransom shook his head. “I see no fault in you,” he said, with a quiet sincerity that threw her off guard.

His fingers, dry and warm, returned to her neck with the lightest possible pressure. She felt the texture of a callus on his forefinger, like the rasp of a kitten’s tongue. The contrast between the brutal strength of his hands and the incredible gentleness of his touch caused gooseflesh to rise everywhere.

“Now then,” Ransom murmured, his thick lashes lowering as he focused on the tender front of her throat where his thumbs rested. “In this situation, you have only a few seconds to react after he takes hold.”

“Yes,” Garrett said, aware that he could feel her breath and pulse, and the movements of her swallowing. “The pressure on the trachea and carotid arteries would cause unconsciousness very quickly.” Tentatively her hands came up to grip his elbows. “If I pulled down on his arms like this . . . ?”

“Not if he was my size. You couldn’t budge him. Tuck your chin down to protect your throat, and put your palms together, as if you’re praying. Push them up through the circle of my arms . . . good, higher . . . until it forces my elbows to bend. Can you feel how that loosens my grip?”

“Yes,” she said in pleased discovery.

“Now grab my head.”

Disconcerted, Garrett gave him a blank look.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

To her embarrassed annoyance, a nervous giggle escaped her. She never giggled. Clearing her throat, she made herself reach out and shape her fingers over his skull, until the heels of her hands rested against the neat outer curves of his ears. The short-cropped locks of his hair were like coarse silk.

“Take hold closer to my face,” Ransom said, “so you can push your thumbs into the eye sockets.”

Garrett winced. “You want me to gouge a man’s eyes out?”

“Aye, show the bastard no mercy, as he’ll show none to you.”

She adjusted her grip tentatively, resting the pads of her thumbs not directly on his eyes, but at the outer corners where the skin was fine and hot. It was difficult to meet his gaze. The color of his eyes was so intense that she had the sensation of being pulled into blueness, almost drowning in it. “As you apply pressure to the eyes,” he continued, “you’ll be able to push the head back easily. Then jerk it down until the nose hits your forehead.” Before she moved, he cautioned, “Slowly. I’ve had my nose broken before, and it’s not an experience I’m after repeating.”

“How did it happen?” she asked, envisioning some life-threatening situation. “Were you quelling a riot? Stopping a robbery?”

“I tripped over a bucket,” he said wryly. “In front of two constables and a reception cell filled with a half dozen prisoners on remand, a deserter from the army, and a man in default of bail.”

“Poor lad,” Garrett said sympathetically, although she was unable to hold back a chuckle.

“It was worth it,” he said. “A fight was brewing among the prisoners, but they all started laughing so hard, they forgot about it.” Abruptly he turned businesslike. “In a real situation, pull your opponent’s head toward you with as much force as you can. Bash him as many times as it takes to make him let go.”

“Won’t I knock myself unconscious?”

“No, this is too hard for that.” Ransom paused to tap a knuckle gently against her forehead, as if knocking on a door panel. “It will hurt him far worse than you.”

His hand returned to her neck, fingers curving almost tenderly around the sides.

Carefully Garrett pulled his head down until she felt his nose and mouth on her forehead. The contact lasted only an instant, but it was electrifying. The smooth touch of his lips and the warm rush of his breath drew up another rush of feeling, a warmth that seemed to radiate from her quick. She breathed in the scent of him, the scrubbed-leather pungency of a clean and healthy male.